


The Duels of Daynes

by Miss_1999



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Canon Divergence - Tourney at Harrenhal, F/M, For Want of a Nail, Gen, House Lannister, House Martell, House Stark, House Targaryen, House Tully, House Tyrell, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Protective Siblings, Robert's Rebellion, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings, Tourney at Harrenhal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-01-31 17:18:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18595858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_1999/pseuds/Miss_1999
Summary: Arthur Dayne is no Sword of The Morning. Not in the eyes of his sister-the heiress of Starfall. She has prevented him from even attempting the scared trails and so as a counter he seeks to spread his name to the far corners of all seven kingdoms. Building his esteem though tourneys, hunting games, and any and all contests great or small. All in hopes of a change of heart.But Ashara will not be made a fool of. If she was able, she'd be pulling him from off the back of his horse, confining him in is rooms at Starfall or sending him across the narrow sea in disgrace. But still she'd rather avoid such a nasty faith, for her dear brother and so she joins him on the road, scrutinizing his every move.And so begins what all of Westeros will come to know as 'The Duels of Daynes'.Come leave a comment! I'm open to feedback!





	1. Sword of the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for taking the time!

The strength of his arm wasn't meant to merely satisfy a grip, on the leather straps of a wooden shield. Even if the dead weight had a falling star painted over the top of it. The men of his family, need not rely on a defense so flimsy that it was routinely split, in two halves, by a lance at a squire's tourney. Not when the Warrior himself had seen it fit to cast the greatest offense through the sky and have put in the path of his forefathers. 

Long before the warrior queen, Nymeria landed her ships on the coast of Dorne. There was simply a man, who followed a star. He rode by horseback, over the whipping sands of the desert; He galloped over the ridges, the edges and the false steps of the red mountains; He pushed further and further following torentine upriver, breaking his horse seven times in one eventful night. Only stopping, when he came across what he sought. In the center of the crater, there was a heart, a star's to be exact. It had still posses the strength to brighten the dark of night, even as it lay far below the horizon line.

From that, the sword of swords was forged and it was named Dawn. And its keepers were named Dayne. 

It is known that a Dayne, wielding Dawn, will be peerless in the field of battle; That a knight wielding Dawn will be the scourge of his enemies;That a man wielding Dawn is will be the protector of the realm. And this man, this knight, this Dayne will also be henceforth known as the Sword of the Morning. 

Over generations of battles, wars, and even in the short years of peace, many have claimed this title. Still, many more have failed the trails. For the position was never passed from lord to heir. No Dawn was a sword only earned. It must be won by the worthy. How so? No one but the head of the house of Dayne will ever truly know. 

But surely, these test could be easily passed if the young man in question had half of Arthur's potential. He is a knight of the seven kingdoms, skilled in the art of the sword, hale, healthy, and highborn. Not to mention, a close friend of the crown prince and the former squire to the lord commander of the Kingsguard. He had trained under the watchful eye of the capital, and that capital, both noble and peasant alike, saw it fit that he be the next bearer of Dawn. The court had been abuzz with the expectation for months. The excitement, one could almost taste it in the air. If one could it might have sweetened the shit of the streets. It was only a matter of time they would say, every single day, that Arthur would be named the next Sword of the Morning. 

But to that, his sister balks.   

For Ashara, the heiress of Starfall was not swept up in the notions of her brother's greatness. As a true lady, she, of course, was quite polite in her refusal. The first time he asked for the chance she spun the silver of her tongue once more and convinced him better of it. He was only a squire then after all, wide-eyed and naive and he had spoken in enough hypotheticals, that she was able to laugh her brother off to kings landing easily enough. "Oh, Arty! Ask me again, in a year," She had said wiping a tear off the track of her cheek. 

And so he did.

* * *

 

He went to court, in the crownlands, under the tutelage of the white bull himself. He had befriended the courtiers, their daughters and even gained the esteem of the crown prince himself. It had been just shy of a year when Lady Ashara took a ship to visit her sibling and then while she was there see Princess Elia, her once dearest friend, married to the silver prince, his majesty Rhaegar Targaryen. 

He stood before her newly knighted, with an easy smile and the composure of man certain he would get his way. 

"Sweet sister, I will return with you to Starfall." He had said to her across the table the night of the wedding feast. Never once checking for a slight flare of her nostrils, or a small twitch of her ears like he used to. 

"Mother will be glad to see you, brother. A weight off her heart. " She replied off handly. Her eyes seemed to stare out into nowhere. 

"And of mine as well"

Then she had stiffened and inch, drew her eyes up to give him a once over, then tilted her head off to one side. "Let us dance," She had insisted as she rose, "you remember your steps?" She practically had to pull him in. Their waltz stiff and ungraceful. 

Finally, she whispered into his ear, "Starfall will not be as you remember it."

The boy had offered her a frown as a reply. A nod was given to prompt her further. 

"Mother had seen it fit, now that she is once more with child that I step into my role early. She thinks I've only so far redecorated but in truth, the eastern stables have been rebuilt to store more than seven steeds, I've commissioned a ship and bid farewell with certain staff."

"I see..." Arthur says, unsure of what his sister meant to say. 

"I hadn't had an issue with the replacements as of yet you see. Well almost, Starfall's captain of the guards proves elusive. You see dear brother, I have yet to an appointed one."

"None to your satisfaction?" He asked. 

"Or anyone's. No one's recommendation carry much weight. I fear we can only trust a Dayne at our backs."

There was a moment dead air, or perhaps the music and dance had slowed at that moment of time, before Arthur replied, "I would be honored to take up the sword, dear sister. With Dawn in hand, no harm or misfortune will fall onto our family."

Ashara glanced off briefly, her eyes darting in the direction of the high table. 

"If that is what you wish for little brother. I only wish you work on your footwork so that you will be better prepared for your next dance."  

* * *

The little brother had taken that it to heart. 

In the six months, he had been in his home by the summer sea, he spent it in the training yards. He found himself crouched in new stances. Sometimes returning to the dornish style, learning it both forward and backward, other times he took in the steps of the water dancing of the Braavosi, and when he got bored of all of that he held his common sword in his left hand. 

He had hardly enough time to be the captain of the guard. Much less to visit his mother as she lays prone to give birth and to scare his sister's suitors off. He was left almost oblivious to Ashara's steeling of her heart. And as such when he approached his sister for the third time, he was caught off guard when she no longer had any  patience at her disposal.

That day she chased out Ryon Allyrion one of the only sparring partners Arthur had left, and so both siblings had already found themselves in a foul temper.

He would not have approached her at the time had he not been anxiously awaiting a letter. Ashara in turn was cold to him. She barely even acknowledged his new presence in her solar. 

"Sister, has Lord Jon Connington written to me?" His voice underlined with displeasure. It was the reality of coming back to Starfall, that Ashara would be breaking the seal and reading his mail without apology. 

"You mean Rhaegar." She snapped. Her head now jerking up, her violet eyes flashing with fire. Arthur was too dumbfounded to reply. "Yes, he had written. Elia as well, but only to me. She says she fares as well as can be expected, her child due to be born in the coming moons. She asks after mother and the babe. She wishes to know if I've re-considered a visit to her in Kingslanding. Oh and yes! She writes what Rhaegar does, that it's truly a shame that you're are not the Sword of the Morning."

A stone settled in the young dornishman's stomach. "Ashara please, I want-"

"Do you, now? How can I be certain that your wants have not been directed, diverted, and perverted by the sweet words of grandeur? Promises of position perhaps?"

"You've bared witness to my skill sister, saw that I've put everything in this. I am the best candidate for Dawn."

"For Dawn, a sword. Not the title and the duty that comes with it. The Sword of the Morning protects and serves house Dayne and house Dayne alone. As soon as you take up the mantle, you'll be whisked away-back to kings landing! A greater purpose you've called it before and you'll call it again no doubt. You're only a piece on a cyvasse board, Arthur. One to be paraded around the streets with a glowing board sword, and white cape." She pulled herself up, her purple eyes now shining in the cold light. Her frown harsh and chin raised. Ashara may have be much smaller than her brother but she made him flinch all the same when she reached over to put her hand atop his shoulder. Gripping on like she'd lose her balance otherwise. 

"You are no Sword of the Morning but you are my brother and this is your home. Stay here or return to your precious prince with no sword to speak of." 


	2. A Star Is Born

Plenty of brothers have found both rhyme and reason, good or bad, to wish their sisters ill. So when dawn arrived the next morning and her's had ridden off from their home in a huff. Ashara's heart might have been broken, crushed under the weight of the possibility of antipathy. It must have, some would insist but truthfully she didn't have the faintest idea herself. She hadn't been breathing all that heavily, her feet did not hurt to stand on, nor did a single salty tear run down her upturned cheek but she did feel a pang of melancholy. Especially when the screams reached her ears.

The staff had come one by one to knock at her chamber door. Each rasp of a fist to the wood fell short of the haunting cries of her mother. She barely heard them call for her, but when she did, she wasn’t moved in the slightest. Ashara knew that, that woman would only blame her for this. Arthur may not be who will inherit the family's seat but he was the one who made her proud. The one who made her smile after the death of her husband before she took another.  Dyna Dayne, her mother in only name didn't need her comfort. For she has the best son one could have ever hoped for and a new one brewing in the pit of her womb. 

Instead, Ashara made her own bed, straightened the light silk blanket, fluffed the feather pillows to perfection and drew the curtains to allow in the morning light. She brushed her own hair then tied it up it a single lovely braid. She donned her petticoats, and a modest silk gown and slippers.

Left her room and then walked briskly to her solar in the Palestone tower just over yonder. Once she arrived she tried to push herself to the accounts but found she could not focus. So instead the heiress dipped a feather to the ink and a put a plea onto parchment. 

 

_Princess Elia Targaryen,_

_of the house Nymeros Martell._

 

_Expect my brother to return to court in a week at the earliest. He rode off alone, on a single sand steed and mayhaps he had the sense to bring along a sack of silver but by chance, he lacked the forethought I will send a chest full, along with anything he had left. Treat him kindly._

 

_Lady Ashara Dayne,_

_Heiress of Starfall._

 

This would be the first letter returned in months to her friend and for that Ashara was truly sorry. Elia did not and has never deserved such brisk and affectionless regard and yet Ashara knew that she must have exactly that. Once they were as close as sisters but no more. No longer can she suffer a friendship doomed by machinations of king and court.

She wondered if an invitation to Sunspear would come first or a missive to Kingslanding or even a visit from the red viper himself. It would not seem so strange for Oberyn to suddenly appear out of thin air, he would be right at home with all the other second sons of Dorne and the Reach alike, who had come flocking into her home in the vain hope to win her hand. Once she might have even wanted him to seek it but at last, she could no longer look at him the same. Nor any of the Martells, in any case. She couldn't simply return to the days of splashing in the cooling pools of the Water Garden. She wouldn't be able to stitch a star and sword next to Eila's sun and spear without care. She won't be playing cyvasse with Doran or Mellario or entertain herself with anything other than her duty. 

Her newly commissioned ship, 'Polaris' is its name, will need a christening before it's a maiden voyage in the next moon, Arthur's things must be sent and then received, She needs to find a husband in the lot that she has, and she has to meet her new sibling. Hopefully, they will not be as disappointing as the last.

Suddenly Ashara looked up, wiggled her ears around and was alarmed by her mother’s sudden silence. 

* * *

 

Allyria's birth it seems had been quite the spectacle. The stable boy had told Ashara as such, while the child was resting in her arms, that Lady Dayne had collapsed mere moments after Arthur passed the gate. That she clutched her belly and screamed out both Arthur and the lyseni. The nursemaid from the town told her that the babe had already been fed having been reaching for her tit before its feet fell out of the womb. The maester told her that little Allyria might have been strangled if it wasn't for him turning her in the womb mere moments before.

Ashara paid the stories no mind, as she was content to stare into the eyes of the babe and count her fingers and toes. 

For the first time in a year, the heiress had something to smile about. she would have done so unabashedly if her mother had not been bleeding out in the next room over. When she arrived in the doorway of her mother's chambers the maester had already shuffled everyone out. Her sister tossed in her arms before she even she knew she had one. She and the staff could only wait to see if Lady Dayne would survive birth. Time moved at tortoise’s pace but the horrors crept fast. Her heart for the second time that day ceased up in her chest. It was then when she named her sister Dyna in her head. For all of five hours she was named for their mother. Until it became evident clear her mother wouldn’t be suffering a tragic end. The name was soon changed, to honor Samwell Dayne the Starfire's wife.  

Allyria was passed into the hands of her mother and for once the two older Daynes did not clash words. 

"She looks like you." Lady Dayne said instead. With a laugh her voice verging into bitterness. Dyna looked like her own grandfather, a long face with whiskers on a strong chin while it seems her own daughters' were more heart-shaped and lovely. Ashara and arthur's eyes are more purple than both her parents's, almost as much as a Targaryen.  

But her sister had her nose, as much as a babe of only a day could. Her coloring would favor her lyseni father, however. A father who has not come back to the keep since the little one's conception. She'll be a pale blonde, Ashara would wager with bright blue eyes instead of her violet. "She'll grow to be a beauty." Ashara agreed.

"Write for your brother, he ought to see her for himself. If only that boy would have waited a moment."

Ashara, perhaps because she liked the peace, as fragile as it may be, didn't tell her mother she had no intention of doing such a thing. Perhaps if she had, and then even she would have followed through, then the Duels of the Dayne would not have begun entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How am I doing so far?


	3. Crossed Swords at Old Town (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Arthur has a bit of a half-baked idea.

The Daynes of old and the Dayne of new regarded the old town across the Torrentine with more hate than any maester's scroll could ever hope to record. The rival port that soaks in the sunny foreground, leaving The Port Of New Stars in the midst of that seventh damned tower's shadow. It boils their dornish blood, the way the city thrives just out of reach, in the flowering cesspool called the reach. 

Twice in the history has Arthur's ancestors saw it fit to sack, burn and disgrace the seat of the House Hightower.

First, came Samwell, the Starfire, who's loot and plunder of the city still effects the Starfall of today. It financed the castle's finest finishings. The great hall's luminous stain glass ceiling that depicted the stars in the day and revealed the stars in the night, the polished white stair steps that lead to the ornate sept, the garden of a million chuparosas, the twin silver chests with amethyst and bone inlays and even the fine velvet curtains that hung in Arthur's boyhood room, were all because of that sword of the morning's particular adventitious sack.

Second, came Joffrey who lived when the dragons did. Now it could not be said that this sword of the morning held any particular affection for the gardener kings, but the Targaryen appointed sycophants must have been far more detested. It was said that he sneaked out of the red mountains, his fellow dornishmen at his back, burned the cities outer fields to the ground and slew a Hightower's son. He pissed in their general direction and he did it with great pride. 

There was no third as of yet. But as the sun rose on a new day Sir Arthur Dayne rode passed the city gates. 

* * *

Sweat fell in a large swooping motion, dripping, dropping from his brow into his noble steed. A whine erupted into stilted air of the market place but no one was there to say for certain if it was Arthur or the horse. Down and up the labyrinth of wynds, crisscrossing alleys, narrow crookback streets, and markets they went, him bent over the long neck of his sand steed but at last once a stable was met he had to take a stand, on his own two feet. 

That didn't stop him from taking a maiden swoon over the door of the Quill and the Tankard. If its innkeeper had not bared witness to his hurried approach the boy of four and ten would have been left to sleep off exhaustion like a man would a drink. He would have stuck up his nose at the youth if not for the boiled leather doublet, lovely riding gloves, and the falling star emblem embroidered into his cape. Instead, he took him by the arm up the stairs in an open room. 

Sir Arthur to his credit but still fairly dazed did somehow pull off proper payment. Overpaid by seven silver coins. 

That morning when everyone else was rousing, he laid unhappy over the stiff mattress. His ears buzzed with the city's ravenous racket, his eyes screwed so shut he couldn't help but imagine he'll need a knife to cut his new eye slits and eventually he chose to revisit the day past. He thought and thought, and though not upon his sister's words but rather upon the coldest stare of purple eyes he had the displeasure of being under. They had widened, inflated even as if she had been surprised but instead of seeming fishy they were instead steady and purposeful. They peered into his soul, saw his worthlessness and judged him unfit.

Upon the field of battle, he is destined to die on those eyes will be hung in the sky staring down at him but perhaps if he tried with enough vigor he could forget them in life. 

To do that he allowed himself to think past his own suffering. He put his focus once more upon the Hightowers, upon their heir and his most hateable face. The reachman was once a suitor to the lovely Princess Elia. He had wooed her with pale pink roses and sicking sweet sonnets of false love, It was only by the grace of the gods and Prince Oberyn's quick wit that her opinion was tarnished by some passed gas. Once her refusal was certain, he wasted no time parroting his lord father's words about dornish whores. As his former squire, Arthur read enough of Sir Gerold's, Baelor break-wind's own uncle, letters to form enough of a negative opinion. The boy, five years his elder, was never worthy of Eila's hand nor even his heir-hood but thank the warrior he was a Hightower. This upcoming duel would not mean as much if not.

Not to Arthur's prickly sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't lie was having some trouble figuring out if the story should show the actual duels/challenges and that's why this chapter took so long to figure out. In the end, you will see most of the action...starting in the next installment I promise. 
> 
> Arthur in this, the beginning anyway, is kinda just a stupid kid. He's impulsive but that's almost better them him making a plan because he will and does go too far with anything and everything. I think this is a good middle ground to show his devotion to the courtly world he wants to belongs in and still honoring his house by copying his ancestors...in a way. I can't promise this will work out for him in the end.
> 
> I had so much fun writing this chapter so I hope you enjoyed it. Tell me what you think!!!


	4. Crossed Swords at Old Town (Part Two)

Like most highborn sons brought up in the light of the seven, Arthur had dreams of knighthood. He would tell his septa, his mother, his father, the kennel master, the stable boy and of course his beloved sister, all about the battles of old casting himself in the role hero. He held a particular fascination in the likes of 'The Last Storm' and 'The Battle of the Redgrass Field' but would of course occasionally unite Dornish peninsula with rhoynish Queen Nymeria. 

He would have been sent off to squire on his eleventh names day if not for what occurred on his ninth. The blacksmith had been commissioned a long sword by his lord and lady, as a wedding gift for some favored vassal or anthour. It was Ashara who had overheard and it was her scheme but it was done in the name of her brother. She had to practice her letters for weeks on end until her father's hand was properly imitated but it was not a moment too soon. She wrote to the blacksmith asking for a second to be forged alongside the other, asking for his silence on the matter as it will be quite the marvelous surprise for the lady bride to receive her husband's twin. She had then carefully marked it with a star and sword, the seal was stolen from the maester's solar and then returned with the old coot being none the wiser. Come the wedding day, the smith's apprentice brought both to Starfall. Arthur, who was told of his gift and that if he wanted it he would have to use his own wit, intercepted him before he was to come in front of the lord and lady. He was only supposed to retrieve one of the blades, Ashara had told him, but when the apathetic apprentice offered both, he did not have the foresight nor self-control to refuse. The boy ran off with the swords at hand hiding them both under the bed. 

Not a week later did that apprentice come to realize his mistake. To win them back Arthur, a recent boy of nine decided that it would only be right to win them in a duel. They slunk off the field just beyond Starfall's walls, both boys drawling twin blade. Both much too long and heavy for them to hold quite right. The apprentice was older, more determined and wield a larger amount of strength but Arthur was a known prodigy since he turned the age of six. They clashed only one time, but it was enough to declare a winner. When Ashara came across them the other boy was disarmed and was sporting a fresh angry cut from his right leg to mid-torso. Arthur wasn't so proud of himself when he saw the way red blossomed upon his this cotton shirt. 

Hurridly the siblings dropped the apprentice onto the lap of their maester. Arthur wept but Ashara's own face was locked into a blank stare. Their parents...they were none too pleased. Ashara gains two septa to hound her day and night for five years and Arthur was saddled with a squirehood far beneath him. It was only by the grace of the gods that his potential wasn't squandered by the time lord commander Hightower took notice of him. 

It was by fate's design that the sword he had taken from Starfall's armory, was that very blade. 

* * *

And to think it had been a mundane morning leading up to this. 

See the heir of the castle had been about his regular day, planning and then unplanning foxhunts with his brothers and then his Bannerman, entertaining his young sisters' mischief games with the septa and of course strolling endlessly with the Rowen girl. They were to be wed his father said, although Baelor had been waiting expectantly for him to think better of it. Rhonda was her name, he has to remember to remember that. She was of noble birth it was true, the relations to Goldengrove would do well for the family he knew, and her perfect manners and refined courtesy were appreciated but he hardly thought she was the best he could have. She was six years his elder, has never ridden a horse and painfully plain-faced. Nevertheless, he was cowed and saddled with her and to keep away his family's complaints he every once and while took her around the garden patch. Arm and arm she and him passed rose bush after rose bush, fountain after fountain, everything the same as it was their last walk until they rounded a corner and came face to face with a castle guard. It was almost impressive how the guard could relay his messages through his labored breath. Baelor did not even have to make his own excuses, he kissed the lady's hand and hurried away. 

When he entered the great hall, in the center of the tower castle, the first thing he saw was the horse taking a shit in the middle of it. His attention, of course, was quickly shifted to his father in his wooden seat and the dornishman across from him. Members of his own family, along with visiting bannerman and merchants were scattered about the hall but they parted to the sides as he drew nearer and nearer to his father and the stranger. Or perhaps not quite a stranger for it was clear to see just who it was. His identity was loudly proclaimed with that awful purple-dyed doublet and the gaudy star and sword clasped lilac cape."Father, Ser Arthur," He says a bit unsure, but with his head bowed. 

"My son," His father, the lord Leyton, says almost jovially, " Ser Arthur has come to duel you." 

Baelor's eyes might have popped out of his head at that. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. Arthur Dayne, even as young as he, it was known that he was a prodigy. Baelor was never more than good. Besides the two men had never met before this. He opens up his mouth to speak, "Surely that's is not-"

"You will not refuse this challenge Baelor," He father says, his voice low and unusually lordly. The son recoiled at that. Lord Leyton, while not the worst father, had too high expectations for his children everyone knew. 

"Yes of course father," he said but quickly turned to the stony dornishman, "but what pray tell is the reason for this duel Ser?" 

"It is for the honor of my house." The young knight said.

"I see, a noble reason to be sure but hardly one to seek me out specifically for. Old vendettas have no place in this age you must know. Since the marriage of Daeron and Mariah and Maron and Daenerys, our families have not again clashed swords." Baelor said his voice strained out to sound reasonable. Swiftly he glanced over his person and to his relief it did not Dawn at his side. Perhaps that means he had a chance?

"And we shall not now Ser, " Arthur says, "I only mean for us to cross swords, not clash. A duel of knights." 

"Till the first blood?" Baelor asks, something akin to dread sinking into his stomach. He knew he could not step away from this. 

"Aye, draw your swords." His father barked over both of them. 

"Now?" Both mutter out a bit stunned. 

The head of House Hightower nodded. "It is only fair I think we can agree. You've both had the same degree of preparation." He said. 

It was the younger knight who first obliged the lord. The sword he drew out was, thankfully not the Dayne's ancestral blade. It didn't glow for one, but it did glint of the light. The amber tears and amethysts on the twisted pummel drew the eye. Baelor quickly gripped on to his own, a straight blade with a simple finish. As they began to circle the crowd murmurings grew both louder and less comprehensible. 

Hightower stroke first, slash swiftly at Dayne's hand. Only to be sidestepped.

The heir of the castle almost lost his balance as he moved to parry the payback swipe from Arthur. The Dornishman pushed back at the Reachman almost the right foremost corner of the hall before swinging his blade high. Baelor barely avoided it, taking a roll to his left just as Arthur collided with the black stone of the hall. A yellow spark lighting off it. Baelor tried to take advantage, maneuvering his body up but at last, proved too slow. Ser Arthur simply swung the sword's handle back and a jagged stone cut the reach knight's cheek. 

A stream of first blood trickled off his chin, splotchy droplets of red visible on the grey stone. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, what a contrived situation! They just suddenly had a duel in the middle the great hall for no well-explained reason! Look I know and I'm sorry about that. I just didn't want to end this chapter without a little bit of swordplay and I wasn't going to write anthour one just about the fight. I need some suspension of disbelief for this fanfiction, okay?
> 
> All though to be fair Lord Hightower, the father, I believe to no be in great health, mentally anyway. In the books, it says he hasn't been spotted out of the High Tower for years. He also has a daughter who is known to be mad, so there definitely basis for him to be like that. Just think of him being a very less so extreme mad king. He'll make you have a duel in front of many guests but he won't publicly execute you with wildfire. 
> 
> Also, I want to point out that Arthur did not think this through. Thus rash actions.


	5. Butchers the Lot of Them

Yes the tower is high and yes the town is old but, here in this glorified flower patch, you'd be a fool not to know that no reachman no matter how highly he prides himself nor his apparent wisdom would allow this sordid story not to spread like wildfire. From the fields to the docks, every gossiper flocked to tell the most stirring of tales. They spoke of the Hightower's heir, and how his bright smile was wiped forever from his face this time yesterday. That his cheek was to be blemished with a scar forevermore, a mark where first blood was shed in a duel of between him and a dronish boy half his age. 

"It was a dornishman...a Dayne. They'd come across each other on the road and couldn't settle on who should first pass..." Some would say. 

"Baelor the fool must have insulted the boy so thoroughly..."

"It was for the princess, the fooling boy should have never insulted her..."

"The Dayne boy was the White Bull's squire, you know. Lord Leyton and his uncle must be quarreling..." Anthour would insist. 

"It's just Dorinshman savagery, butchers the lot of them!"

 "Lady Rhonda Rowan is said to be Hightower's betrothed, it is all but announced. Perhaps the dornishman claimed to have deflowered her and our young lord was only defending his intended's honor." "No, no he was defending his sister's." "Ha, that's ridiculous, Malora is too old, Leyla too ugly, and Alysanne is but a babe. " "He's a second son he can't be too picky." "He's no second son, ya ninnies! He's the first but not the firstborn. He must..." 

"It's the trails, of course, young Arthur will be the next sword of the morning everyone knows. This is just what his shrew of sister must have him doing, dragging up old feuds and the like... "

"Ashara Dayne, Arthur's sister, she must fancy herself love with lord Baelor that this is retribution for his betrothal." 

Now while the stories did first fester in the honey wine, words were wind and soon it spread. The first letter, to put the duel into words, was delivered to Golden Grove, the seat of House Rowan. There Lady Rhonda's perfect penmanship clearly expressed her distress. She wrote-  _Oh it's so horrible papa, The maester had to sew up Baelor's face with my embroidery lace. Lord Leyton hasn't visited his son since and has refused to see me. Worst of all that dornishman just rode away without consequence. I can only thank the god's I did not see worst of it. Papa what of the betrothal?_

From there the Little birds made sure the spider be informed, the prince knew next along with the princess, then all of the court, the crownlands and eventually would one could expect the rumors to find themselves in the north but not before Ashara was informed. 

* * *

The stability of siblings is quite like a scarf of silk- Lovely, colorful, attention-grabbing, and perhaps if well-woven a rope used to aid in escape.  _Or a noose,_  Ashara thinks as she cradles little Allyria close,  _That's anthour kind of an escape entirely. An awful one that is I'd rather fling myself from a tower- more poetry that way._ The heiress only shakes her head, ridding her of that tempting though and instead dooming her head to an anthour subject entirely-

Marriage.

What was there to say it was after all inevitable. For all her mother's bluster, she wouldn't live forever, Arthur was practically jousting to an early grave and Allyria was yet a single moon’s turn. Besides, it wasn't as if she could name her sister heir, Arthur was not yet sworn to any white-clad order, and the babe was a merchant's daughter. Ashara scowls at that, at herself really, for even if she dose feels a great affection for her new sister, it did not entirely stop her disdain of the lysnei slaver. That perfume pounce, gods' willing, should never once more take a step into Starfall!  _Her mother was such a fool_ , Ashara fumes,  _she's giving him claim to one of the oldest and noblest houses of dorne if not all of Westeros. A bastard would have been better if she just must have him as a lover-_ A cry erupted from the claim in question. Ashara quickly stills her anger but yet at the same time rocks her sister to and fro.

Marriage, future marriages, well thought out ones, for the benefits of her house-She must focus on those instead. However poor her choices were. It was true that her beauty and heir-hood had attracted the flies like honey but files were not the right insect.

House Qorglye, had been her hope when she first flowered, their second son Arron was her first love at the water gardens after all but at last, that was not to be. He was a sword swallower, Oberyn's occasional lover and although she was herself dornish, she also had too much pride to force an unwilling man on her wedding night. Besides he was not among her suitors here. 

There were always her cousins from High heritage of course. She could stand them well enough, and it would be what everyone excepted of her. It would be an ideal match if not for their second's son's son. Gerold was his name, a boy of three who on his own had a claim to both Dayne lord hoods. It wouldn't do him any good to be behind his younger sibling in succession. She wouldn't have a potential usurper in her home, with her children. No, it can not happen, not to her! She's hoping to be one of the great figures of her house and if she were to leave it in such a state upon her death she would be infamously the biggest fool of them all. 

 _If only_ , she thinks,  _she could marry someone more detached from the game. The dornish one at least._

Suddenly a servant girl burst into the nursery. "My lady," She says holding out a scroll, "Maester Yandry said this is urgent." Ashara only needs to glimpse the spear and the sun to make her decision. 

The lady of the house blinks, takes two paces back to the cradle, places her sister back and walked out of the room only momentary stopping to take the piece of paper.

* * *

Without a word, she takes herself back to her solar. Not too fast and not too slow, she wouldn't want to cause a scene after all. Only twice did she have to share tense pleasantries. Eventually, she reached her solar, her sanctuary and only when she was seated at her desk did she pick off the seal. 

_Dearest, Ash_

_We at court have just gotten news of the old town, and of course, we are clamoring for the truth of the matter. Surely you did not sanction this mangling on my behalf. When you wrote to me of Arthur's return I had though he would have come straight away. My friend, I beg of you to bid the realm the truth before your brother's and you become known as vengeful butchers. It is not a fate I wish of you sweet Ashara._

_-_ _Elia._

Ashara sat in shock for a good while. Confusion clouding her mind a great deal, so much that she barely notices the maester’s entrance.

"Lady Ashara, I’ve asked about for more information. The merchants around the Port of New Stars were most imaginative. Would you..." 

"Yes," Ashara snaps at once, rising to her feet, her nostrils flaring outward. "Tell me what has Arthur done!" 

"There was a duel, in the Hightower of Oldtown. Sir Arthur had ridden into the kept demanding a duel with lord Baelor Hightower. From what I've gathered the reachman had sustained an injury to the face and his engagement to the lady Rhonda Rowan was all but broken off because of it." 

"Was it not till first blood!" 

"Nobody knew, my lady."

"Lunacy, utter lunacy! I'll have his head on a pike for this. I'll send my apologies to Lord Leyton on his sheared skin...No, I'll exile him! He can go join the second sons for all I care! and drink himself to death while he's at it!" 

"My lady surely that not..."

"Don't be ridiculous of course it is, my brother has ruined our relations to Old Town and its' ports. How will trade hold up in this disgrace?"

"The merchants, my lady, they had came from old town to learn more about house Dayne. They had never heard of the Port of New stars, till the rumors started."

"Well, how long could this last really! Before those spiteful Hightowers place an embargo on our port. And what of the rest! My brother is all but unmarriageable now! What house would want a butcher for a good son? My perspectives must have surely fallen as well. Not to mention Allyria, my sister will starve for his foolishness! He didn’t even know he had two sisters to doom!" 

The heiress's face was as red as blood orange, the knuckles of her fingers pale and her blood pressure spiking. The maester quickly comes to her side, he helped her find her seat again. It took her a moment to calm herself and anthour to rethink her strategy.  _This could be saved, couldn't it? I could spin this into gold and prestige._

"Maester Yandry please write a letter to House Hightower, tell them that this was all a trial that had gotten out of hand and Lord Baelor has our greatest sympathy. Send them a chest of gold dragons, some silks, a dornish red and a sand steed." 

"Right away my lady," The Maester says, turning for the door only to stop himself before he took hold of the handle, "A trail my lady?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on Baelor's face being disfigured, and to be honest the rumors are exaggerated although there will be a scar. I'm just trying to put consequences in really. Hopefully, I did well this time! What do you think?


	6. Meanwhile at Starfall!

 

A small stretch of sea sent the sailors, the sellers, the sons and the daughters far from their lord fathers, and to the ports of others. To the the Port of New Stars, a new addition for an old family, a noble lot that's current lady was currently waiting to greet all who would venture. Every visit brought new prestige to her house and yet not everyone was welcomed, truthfully. No the lady of the white stone castle felt a sick feeling spread from out her gut to her heart as the plank of a Oldtown Galleon lowered. Allowing three noble figures exit and entry. 

 

The first to set off the plank was a grey and grizzled man, perhaps younger than her own daughter by a year or so, with a set of coal colored eyes and a tower for his heraldry. The well-stitched patch hung over the heart of a monotone tunic and jangaly chain mail. Now while his appearances was nothing short of unremarkable he certainly didn't have such a hideous facial deformity as the songs had suggested. The second, a younger towhead girl, with a plain but cheerful face. She wore a white dress, perfectly tailored and clean for having coming from such a well oiled ship. Her hair done up in a extravagant braid, a jeweled hairnet strictly secured it with a wonderfully polished tower bead at its center. The third was an older but far more lovely young women. This one with a deep rich brown for hair, even red in certain lights, and green eyes that appeared as well polished as emeralds. She dressed no less exorbitant, her dress a lovely green shade in a similar and  tailoring but instead of a hairnet she wore a pair of golden hair pins shaped as falling leaves, a piece of jewelry no doubt reflective of her fathers house-House Rowan. 

 

Lady Dayne did her best to muster a kind, yet respectful look and then promptly froze it onto her own face. She adjusts her youngest from her breast to a more comfortable position, riding low on her hip. Showing her guests her pride and joy, a bubbly blonde dornish girl. "Ser, my ladies I welcome you to the Port of New Stars and I hope to Starfall herself soon enough. I am Dyna Dayne, lady of the castle. I'm afraid my dear son, Ser Arthur can not be here to greet you himself."

The knight only bows his head slightly and said in reply, " Lady Dayne, that is quite alright. I suspected such as when the lad left the Hightower he seemed to go by land in the opposite direction from the Torrentine. I assume it is to rejoin my uncle and to enter his service as a squire once more."

Dyna jumped to correct the reachman's slip, "My son is a knight of the realm, Ser." Her lip tighted around the edges. 

The blonde girl gave a small giggle to liven up the background and yet surprisingly it did not cut the tension what so ever. 

"Our apologies my lady, you see Ser Garth had not known. He had been on a hunt when your son had...had visited, But as I was there I can say in confidence Ser Arthur was wearing the white bull's heraldry instead of your own. I was quite confusing for the ladies present in the hall as well. We were left to assume- " The older lady rushed to say before her escort cut her off with a sentence of his own.

"Forgive our manners, Lady Dyna. I am Garth, second son of lord Leyton Hightower and his first wife. This is my sister Lady Leyla and my brother Baelor's betrothed, Lady Rhonda Rowan." Lady Rhonda Rowan did not seem so happy to be cut off nor with her introduction but never the less flashed a smile and curtsied along with the Hightower girl. 

"Lovely to meet your acquaintance, Ser, my ladies. This is my youngest child, Allyria. Ashara, my eldest could not be here to greet you herself as she busies herself for a feast for your mouths. Please do forgive her. Shall we reconvene again at the castle." She turned without a reply, hoping that the carriage ride to her white stone castle will do enough to calm her temper. 

"But of course, my lady."

* * *

 Before even the feast, the Hightowers and Rowan insisted on bread and salt. Their  _northern courtesies_  hiding, however futilely the urgency for guest rights. Lady Dayne suspected as much as did her daughter it seems, given that was exactly set up for them in the drawing room. Ser Garth toke a single bite from a loaf, a sip of wine and then decided that he must freshen up for the feast. Awkwardly he exited. 

His sister however was happy to take a seat, and spread some lemon custard over her own. Lady Rowan sat with her quietly, herself only on occasion daring a nibble. Dyna hid her own tension with a dornish red at her lips. 

"Lady Dayne," hightower says, "What a lovely home you have. I quite like this lovely room." 

The drawing room in question was rather plain. The curtains color was a tad too dark for her lighting, the tiles hardly polished to see her own face, and the light dreadfully bleek as the sun sets in the other direction. 'Well yes you would, you live in a dusty old tower after all' Thinks lady Dyna. 

"This room is hardy anything compared to our great hall, but yes I concur. Lovely. Lady Rhonda what is your thoughts?"

The lady from Goldengrove quickly gave shoot her hostess a sweet if small smile. "Quite lovely, my thanks lady Dayne." 

An awkward silence once more fell over space. 

One that lasted a moment or two before a new voice spoke up from the hall.

"Mother! Mother are you there?" Ashara calls, her voice oddly warped. Dyna looked up from her goblet her eyebrow raised but not wanting to show the reacherlanders she rises and calls to her oldest. "In the drawing room, my dear." 

In walked her daughter, years younger than when she last saw her. Her hair was held in a loose braid at the nape of her neck, a few strains curing up and sticking them to her check with beads of sweat. She wore a dress two shades too bright, with golden embroidery instead of the usual silver. Each check was a painted a rosy color and her lips in the same shade. Dyna words died in her throat. "There are are Mother! Cook sent me to ask if your would prefer deer or boar as the centerpiece for the feast. Also I've switched those awful spun sugar skulls for pigeon pie and cream."

Another moment of silence was held before Dyna's bearings could be regained and even then not all the way, "Err, well...I...Ashara, my dear-"

"Deer! Of course mother! It's was as plain as the nose on my face...Thank you!"

 Ashara pulled herself into a shallow curtsy, gave a little wave and then practically skipped her way from the room. Not having once address the other ladies. 

_what has gotten into her!_

 

**Author's Note:**

> So one of the biggest changes is that Ashara was born first and thus is the heir of Starfall. Her siblings have switched around their ages with Arthur coming after her. The Canonical older brother isn't in this story since we know next to nothing about him other than he exists. That being said Allyria is yet to be born yet...well see chapter two.
> 
> The timeline will not be accurate, I'm sorry it won't. But I'll try to keep it in the same time frame. This will focus on the so-called 'duels' but will go all the way to the end of Robert's rebellion which outcome will be drastically changed. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and leave me a comment.


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